


Condemned

by GirlNightmare



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament), Original Work
Genre: Adam - Freeform, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Bible AU, Blasphemy, Cain is emotionally constipated, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Christianity, Churches & Cathedrals, Denial of Feelings, Eva - Freeform, F/M, Fallen Angels, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Innocence, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Past Lives, References to Depression, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Salem Witch Trial, Slow Romance, Witches, abel - Freeform, accurate bible tellings, basically cain never goes to enoch, protector Cain, reader is basil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlNightmare/pseuds/GirlNightmare
Summary: In which the fallen angel Cain, after being cursed and condemned to become a wanderer, never reached Nod, but wandered the lands of man until he reached the town of Bramwell.
Relationships: Cain/Nonbinary Character(s), Cain/Original Character(s), Cain/Reader, Reader - Relationship





	1. Génesis 1-13

Year.1051

Bramwell Forest.

―OVER THE YEARS, THE SANDS STOPPED BEING SANDS AND THE HOT DAYS STOPPED BEING HOT, TIME ELIMINATED EVERYTHING AND WHAT ONCE WAS, CEASED TO BE.

The ancient times were no longer relevant and customs changed, leaving little of the past customs for future generations, with it, he changed as well. Once a child of the earth, today only a wanderer condemned to live as long as his own nature will leave him before simply fainting where his feet left him.

Cain, the first farmer of the land, condemned for committing the first act of evil that the world had known, a fratricide against his only brother Abel, perhaps jealousy or perhaps something else, that with certainty only both could know, but unfortunately one is lost in time and the other is no longer in this world. At least this is what the young tongues of the earth says.

The earth was violently stirred and the plants slowly withered in its wake, time was vile against those who do not follow its rules, just like Cain, the last long-lived man of the first era, still punished to be a wanderer and unable to remain too much in one place due to constant terror towards the end of all living creatures, imminent death.

With time constantly changing, the ancient man had to keep up with him, always within the shadow and never outside it, Cain adapted to all the changes and with time, he was also forgotten, leaving only traces of who he was or Who they suppose it was, but nothing could be more wrong from the truth.

In a time where he never decided to stay in Nod, the land east of Eden, Cain only dedicated himself to wandering in the corners of the so young earth, without an apparent destination or even any reason to exist other than waiting for death from natural causes. or at the hands of close or distant relatives full of anger.

The times were not soft with the first sinner and with the years, I only observe how people lived and died, they adapted just as he had to do, he changed his clothes and over time he learned to simply hide his better and better. face, a shadow between the lights.

Bramwell, was the last destination of his years as a wanderer, a small town that over time only grew smaller and its inhabitants were nothing more than strangers to the new world and its strange customs, such as "science" which was whispered like some sordid secret among select groups.

Even with the reluctance of the people to follow the heels of the new era, the law was the same, the lords could only show off their mansions made of the misery of the peasants who survived in a world that did not treat them as more than vermin.

The dominating oaks that towered over his tall figure did nothing more than provide a cloak to hide from the sun's rays, while the leaves that rotted in his wake only prevented his footsteps from being betrayed by some momentary creaking..

"Men are so dumb," I hum in a husky, ancient voice, cracked with disuse. "They create things that they are not willing to provide."

The new man, brother and family created new ways to protect himself and his loved ones, homes more resistant against their own brothers or the creations of nature itself, so resistant as to prevent the strong winds from taking away their only means of heat and serenity.

In times like these, an archaic and decrepit cabin is but a breath of fresh air for a wanderer like him..

He calmly shuffled his feet as he balanced an old leather bag and rags of ancient clothing, containing only a few hand-carved wooden bowls and chunks of food that he could get through bartering of little benefit to himself. Wanderers cannot afford to choose.

An empty and broken home does not seem more than appropriate for him, thinks the wanderer with ill-concealed bitterness and an impassive face that hides nothing but exhaustion. The moldy boards do nothing but echo with every footstep, but the forest remains uninterested in the echoing sounds of the lonely cabin..

The bag was thrown to the ground with a heavy boom! The wandering man cannot help but feel apathy at the sound, disinterested in the possibility that something inside has broken, there are no things of value for the damned, not for them and certainly even less for the first of them.

The wanderer took a seat on one of the creaking steps and whispered in the dark, letting the stars consume his vision, but once again, the forest ignored his lament..

❝My punishment is greater than I can bear. ❞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English naturally is not my original language, therefore, excuse me if there are things that do not match.  
> Basically after reading the bible, I just wanted to protect cain from others and from himself.  
> you know, after killing his brother he just runs away and honestly wanted an excuse to do a witch and fallen angels AU


	2. The misery of a written past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you work for convenience, misery will take over your existence"  
> Cain briefly recalls stories from a past that he himself caused and finds love again in tilling the land where he was born and die.

Year 1051

Bramwell Woods.

\- MY PUNISHMENT IS MORE THAN I CAN BEAR.  
TODAY YOU ARE EXPELLING ME FROM THE EARTH, AND I WILL BE HIDDEN FROM YOUR PRESENCE; A RESTLESS VAGABUND FOR THE EARTH, AND WHOEVER FINDS ME WILL KILL ME.

The first rays of sunlight penetrated the broken windows of the shattered hut, along with the soft sounds of nature itself, which ignored the wanderer's grief and his endless weariness both of the world itself and of his own person. The birds mocked him, with their freedom and mortality, the forest between winds mocked his loneliness and the same world pointed him out as impure and profane.

The wanderer growled in a raspy voice and hateful existence and stood up, swinging his weary limbs, aching from little or no use, with the sole thought of doing the best he can do, even with the years that passed, he never learned anything more. Even if he could support him for long periods of time with provisions, just thinking about tilling the same filthy soil that condemned him in the first place with its fruits only made bile rise to his throat.

Survival or the ego?

The decision was as quick as it was simple, beggars have no choice, after all. Trembling, he rocked weakly to the corners, supporting his fearsome weight and making the old timbers creak. Not used to a proper night's sleep with death always on his heels and misery at his side.

Gently he leaned on the ground, next to the ragged bag, slowly looking for his materials to begin to till this fertile and virgin land, begging whoever wants to listen to him wallowing in his misery, that he would never rot this earth and again he will take away the opportunity of the momentary peace in the middle of a chaotic world.

Finding them, he slowly rubbed the walls as he got up, avoiding falling under the gravity of his own weight, humming numbers and old songs in extinct languages. With hunger and thirst as her teachers on her endless journeys, she had developed an extreme tolerance for their lack.

"How profane and mean you are, father of all." He spoke to the silent wind, lamenting the land that died in vain for its useless attempts to remain motionless in a lonely place, in order to avoid the punishment of the poor and foolish children of their lord, who, prisoners of false anger, would try to attack him and condemn themselves. himself in the process.

"Anyone who kills Cain will be punished seven times"

He remembered those words and ignoring his own thoughts, masterfully tilled his new land, with quick and precise movements, eradicating the useless grasses to place few seeds from his small arsenal of supplies, seeds so ancient, but much more powerful than the common ones that provided the new earth through the years of evolution.

Gently, he knelt and spoke to his little land, his voice husky and soft, whispering kind things and ancient stories far from the cruelty he experiences now, tales of a life that was once innocent, just as his childhood was in the past. beginnings of humanity, before he realized the time, the sun was already in a lesser state, giving way to a serene and joyful afternoon, awkwardly he got up and sighed, listening to his own stomach buzzing aggressively, and as much as he wanted to ignore it, he knew well she couldn't ignore it any longer, her body had already reached its maximum state of endurance.

Perish or persist?

Again the decisions were not difficult or varied.  
The wind whispered to the east, guiding its new protector towards civilization, with its bag carried on its heavy shoulders, it kept its little treasures protected, which were so easy to spot in the early days of the earth, but of so little value, Who would say that over the years its value only increased.

Old coins made of the finest gold, small gems with an outlandish monetary value, papyri and historical antiquities of unprecedented prices and intellectual values, would be gone in a heartbeat being exchanged for money that would only lose its value and supplements to ignore its humanity, such as the hunger and thirst he felt as sadly human, through his steps lengthened, the voices of the people became more prominent and full of a life he could no longer have, the testimony of the joys of mortality, something he could no longer have for himself. Covering himself with a thick cape from head to toe to avoid raising dying desires in weak humans, so that they become prisoners of anger and wish to eradicate it, condemning themselves in the process.

He licked his chapped lips and listened intently to the murmurs of the crowded crowds, children laughing, people chatting and most importantly, loud voices that could only mean that there was food near him. From his bag, he took out a few gold, well-polished coins and with slow steps, he headed for the smoke.

Perhaps this time, the world could give him the momentary peace he was so denied.

With that thought in mind, he took slow steps towards an uncertain destination, avoiding drawing too much attention, being practically almost impossible considering his prominent presence as much as his almost supernatural size, as tall as the oldest oak in existence and as strong as a thousand. men in battle.

"Even over the years, I tend to forget that humans in the past were practically giants, how cruel time is that no one forgives" He scolded himself wearily, not wanting to hurt himself with his own words.

Again these words the same wind always complicit in his misery, carried them away, as if he had never said them in the first place, as a simple illusion, even if that is what his heart really wanted to make itself believe, looking back at the society that was only steps from his vision, he was able to briefly think how truly beautiful it was to see something more than loneliness again, the blossoming humanity in its full splendor, shining before him.

Perhaps

Just maybe

Something might be different this time, he begged silently, that the infamous father of all will not punish this place just for bringing his presence, as he had already done for eons and eons.

"When you cultivate the soil, it will no longer give you its vigor; you will be a wanderer and wanderer on the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue with the miserable adventures of our favorite tramp.  
> In the next chapter, maybe Cain will learn to socialize with the new world that he wanted so much to push away.  
> Be free to leave kudos and comment :)


	3. Fragility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The house he builds is as fragile as a moth's cocoon, like a hut that a watchman has made."  
> Like a dead man among the living, Cain learns of the value of the material among humans and see they fragility.

Year 1051

Somewhere in Bramwell Village

―NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES THE CYCLE WAS REPEATED, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES THE WORLD GOT RESHUFFLED.  
ALL THAT WAS THE INESCAPABLE IMMUTABILITY OF FATE.

Beneath his cloak, he clumsily held up his ragged clothes, seeking non-existent comfort as he danced softly avoiding hitting other humans, much smaller in stature and not to mention strength. With analytical eyes, he observed every space that he could reach with his vision, so many fragile humans, animals and small plants. He could feel self-conscious, under the critical gaze of animals that could sense his inhuman nature.

Clumsily, he took a small list in a damaged and trembling Hebrew, they were simple things and probably the most that could be found on the sidewalk, the mere fact of coming into contact with a human being in a small and closed place, they made him so terrified , being almost shameful, being himself a being of eons, extensive knowledge and naturally, being one of the first humans, venerated here as divine.

"Looks lost, my lord." A voice murmured and her eyes quickly locked onto the deep gray eyes.

He tried to say words, but as much as his own blood, they left him before he could even say them in the first place.

"May l?" He could feel the human's soft and fragile hands, feeling that if he really touched them just like ashes, they would vanish in the wind.

Speechless, he held out his note, showing hands made for survival and the earth itself, with stories of pasts incomprehensible to new humans, who had hardly suffered from the wrath of humanity, only a percentage of it.

My Lord.

He savored those words in his mind, feeling disgusted by the slight feeling of happiness, feeling that, for the first time, someone was treating him as a living being, even if he consciously knew, that perhaps it was because of the little respect that these humans felt. made themselves, due to the putrid actions of their rulers, infamous and self-centered.

"It is almost extraordinary to see someone who knows the least as is writing." The human gave soft giggles of joy and without further ado, he advanced, stretching his ragged cloaks towards a person.

She was an old woman, in her brief period of loss, she remembered how much these were revered not only for their wisdom, but also for their work as guides of the youngest and most vulnerable, slightly leaned a little, avoiding looking over at that old woman, out of respect.

"My lady." The little human bowed, showing respect and the other words were just a blur, lost in dying memories that when he least wanted them close, the more he wanted to revive from his lethargy.

The soft hand brushed hers and without thinking too much, he held out the gold coins, which only got bigger in such small hands.  
Humans are certainly so fragile, what a precious life they have.

He quickly averted his gaze, feeling aware of what those coins meant.

It was not common for someone to pay with the most valuable mineral, after all the exchanges were really their exchange coins, you give something and receive what you want instead, over time it improved, being in ancient times, the labor and even a member of his lineage to marry what was offered in his place.

"My lord must be of noble blood, I see." As quickly as it came, that amazement died, even under the hidden scrutiny gaze that he kept on the human, the little thing honor his money and only grant what is necessary, not one more coin, not one less.

If only they knew, that his blood was more than noble blood would be, divine blood. The one whose proclaimed "Messengers of God" would die to be worthy of touching or even being in his presence.

"My memory does not remember your presence, my lord, does it not belong in these parts?" The little human looked at him, didn't seem to be bothered by the lack of response, happy to fill the space of silence for both of them.

At the end, everything that could be in his notes was crossed out, thus ending his business in human land, his livelihoods were kept protected in old rags inside his bag, in addition to the fact that the coins still clinked together, barely and had been spent three of them.

He sighed silently and savored the crowd and the noises of life, before inevitably losing himself in his oblivion within the protections of the forest for another season, before needing sustenance again.

"I pray for the nature to take care of your steps, My Lord." Briefly he analyze his words, in his culture those who begged for the protection of his steps, went to the creator himself, never to something as mundane as the land that life brought, it was peculiarly somewhat refreshing, the divinities only knew how much he hated the name of everyone's father, almost as much as he hated himself.

How varied are the creatures, truly unique and at the same time so equal.

Slowly he held out two gold coins in the human's direction, offering money for his kindness, he didn't know if he really would have been able to fully purchase his livelihood without someone's help, even more so with the thought that even if he denied it , he knew he could never ask for help to get started.

"Nay, My Lord." The human denied and yet he only extended his hand a little more, almost imperceptibly, for fear of what the little thing would do if them really took a good look at its prominent size

Without further denial, the little thing just took these coins, he could be aware of how much it was worth for the so gentle treatment he exercised on them, as if he praised them in a silent thought, briefly, he remembered having the same attitude with his own crops, as if be their flesh and blood.

"Farewell, my lord." And simply the little being was swallowed by the multitude of hair of colors and proportions, of the same, he too.

Being protected by the thick foliage, as if it had never been there in the first place.

"May your kindness be evident to all!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time, naturally bartering was the most important thing and only someone of nobility generally had gold.  
> And we get a glimpse of how lost our wanderer lies among the living.  
> Be free to leave comments and kudos :)


	4. Memories and Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I look into the mirror  
> A stranger reflected in it  
> It´s a corpse I´ve burned in the incinerator"  
> Cain manifests his guilt in ghosts that are and are not there.

Year 1051

Bramwell Woods.

\- THOSE BROTHERS WILL BE SPOKEN OF AS SYMBOLS FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS TO COME, JUST AS WE TODAY SPEAK OF ANCIENT GODS.  
EVEN AFTER THEIR DEATHS, THEY WILL SHINE LIKE THE SUN.

It is easy to forget how lost and helpless one can feel when asking for mercy from a being who does not have it, he thinks bitterly as he watches the plants and insects die under the blackness that now covers the patch of land that only a day ago had careful I try to plant. The shadow of his sins devoured all life, like a voracious cancer, shattering any hope of a new beginning.

"Damn you, father of all" He regretted no one in particular, touching his fingers, his cursed hands, the only ones causing so much pain to the earth that he was born once, the last that will see him die one day. He silently prays for it more than anything in his entire life.

The now infertile land mocks his sacrifice, a putrid smell hovers among the grass for a few moments, a filthy reminder that nothing will ever grow there. Neither strong oaks like himself, nor anything will step on that land again, from the most microscopic bacteria, nor the smallest insect. The raw nature of its curse, I touch what it touches will perish and never return to what it was, even after its almost impossible death, this land has now already been marked for eternity.

Unconsciously he remembers days of yore, when his only concern was to be a good son and to give good harvests to make his lord proud, as much as to adore him as he believed he deserved to be adored. The best that his land could produce would be displayed with palpable pride before him.

"Look, my lord, the best of my harvest as you deserve"

He snorts at the blinding adoration he possessed, the days of yore used to bring good memories, of innocence, games and hard work in what he was most proud of, what he was a natural wonder, the earth. His only pride and the one that never left him, even if now, it only caused him eternal pain.

Perhaps the greatest gift he could have was not the sacred blood that he inherited, the one that could heal even what did not exist, nor the prodigious power to bring life on earth that he will touch, if not, the innocence and naivety that he carried for so many years, sometimes he couldn't help but miss her. Naivety and that feeling of love, for his beloved (hated) brother.

"They say burn forbidden books! But ... Even if they burn them, it doesn't erase the ideas."

He remembers those words he sometimes said to her, and silently, he just nods to the fact that perhaps, even when he was innocent, he was so innocent in reality.

On second thought, from the moment he was born, perhaps he saw more than what should be seen, always being sheltered by his mother at all times, a mixture of the fear of letting him discover for himself and the fear that at some point he will find something Which would doom him, putting aside the dangers he got into on a daily basis, that skill should have warned him of what would happen next.

It did not.

Perhaps all that was just an omen ignoring those forbidden books that went unnoticed under the sheets of his bed, those soft questions said in noisy moments, so that almost no one can hear them, but if they answer them. Perhaps one is only born crooked, like a misplaced branch. But he knew better, it was not a branch or a plant, it was born loved and grew in the same way. But also, remember the bitterness of never being enough, no matter how much he will adore the land that was entrusted to him, he never succeeded in pleasing his master, no matter how bright the fruit he watered, it was never enough. Bitterly he remembers his brother's words.

"Sometimes it happens that you share your forests with pyromaniacs"

It was a pity, that in the end who shared those forests was not himself, if not his brother. Remember what you thought pain meant, a stabbing burning in your heart that followed you while you still gave it that power, now just understand, that it always follows you, like a scar that never fully heals. Sometimes he sees glimpses of smooth shiny black hair or green eyes as bright as oak trees at his window, haunting him like a ghost, but ultimately nothing more than a nightmare. The worst of them.

Abel is dead.

His dear h̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ brother is dead.

He's dead when he wakes up and stares out the window. And he is still dead as he walks through the trees, staring at them with empty eyes.

Yes, his dear h̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ brother is dead, he is dead and will still be dead after breakfast, and will remain dead as he walks through the trees, watching the village, and nothing will bring him back while the tramp endures his screams.

One day, he just stopped discerning what was real and what was not, because everything, including the present, seemed to be too much and nothing at the same time.

Sharp memories of a life that was and how pitiful it is now, the barren, withered land outside is proof of that. That not only dignity, mortality, but also was taken from his heart. His land and his everything.

How can you mourn the loss of yourself?

Eons ago, perhaps the guilt was overshadowed by the satisfaction of revenge, which slowly gnawed at his heart for each day that his harvests were insufficient for his lord, slowly but surely guiding him through a spiral of darkness, just as the land I touch slowly darkens, killing every living creature it encounters.

"Your hatred keeps you warm now, but it will freeze you in your grave." Now there would be no grave, he scoffed silently as he lay back on the grimy ground, just something icy inside.

He gathers strength in his weak limbs, feeling impure and rightly so, that cursed one, begging for him to stop, which he caused himself. Praying who he betrayed and who he hates the most. Praying that, if forgiveness exists, somewhere in this world or the next, he can be forgiven.

Let go of his arms and they fall, weakened, he is weakened. Fed up and tired, in his mind, that blackness that destroyed part of his land remains burned, his soul bitter to know that it was the cause, his heart bitter to know that he deserves it.

He hates the fact that his sin, is the culprit that he will not be allowed to enjoy his solitude in peace, without sustenance to plant, he will have no choice but to approach the new world, inevitably causing the filthy cycle to start again, being persecuted as he deserves, accepting the pain on his skin as he deserves and again discovering that he is immune to death, being rejected by it once again. Returning to explore the world that is never the same one more time, and beginning the same hellish loop, one more time.

"Do you think life is pain?" He wandering in his spiral of momentary insanity asks no one in particular, no one and the static ghost in his window, who is and was never there.

"Yes" No one in particular responds and everyone who was with him at that time, insects, leaves and no one in particular. "But I also think that life is much more" The ghost of his window ends, the wanderer looking out the window, sees nothing, because there was never anything.

The wanderer does not agree, maybe not now, but he will, he has to.

He close his eyes and imagine the children playing in the village, the adults chatting, that little person who even in his fear of the stranger, set out to help him.

Maybe yes, just maybe, life is more than pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel afraid of how humanity fears death so much and wants to live as long as possible, there is nothing wrong with that, but I think that a "future" where we never die is something that we should fear more than death.  
> Anyways, remember to leave comments and kudos :)


End file.
